I Won't, I Tried, I Can't
by Obsidian Skin
Summary: ...Or 3 more times Peter went to Tony when something was wrong. IronDad Bingo part 2! Follows I Need, I Am, I Want, but can be read alone.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: **Hello all! I decided to do a sequel to I Need, I Am, I Want since people seemed to enjoy it so much!

P.S. If you follow my other story What You Can to Survive, please know that yes, I am running from writing that next chapter. But it'll hopefully be coming soon!

**You don't have to read I Need, I Am, I Want for this to make sense. Can be read alone.**

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)

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**Trope: Nightmares**

I Won't Sleep

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_Freezing. Cold. So cold. _

_Dark. Can't see. _

_Wet. Water was everywhere. Surrounding. Suffocating. _

_A man's muted screams. "Save her! Save her!"_

_A child. Small. So small. _

_Cold. Everything was cold. _

"Peter?"

_He wasn't moving. The man wasn't moving._

"Peter, honey?"

_Crying. Tears. Screams. Sobs. _

_"__Please save my daddy!"_

"Peter, wake up!"

_Sorry. I'm so sorry._

"Peter!"

Peter gasped, bolting upright and smacking his head against the underside of the top bunk.

"Honey, are you okay?"

Peter rubbed at his forehead blearily, heaving for air as though he'd been running a marathon a few second earlier. He turned his head towards the voice beside him. He winced as his aunt switched on his bedside lamp.

"Peter?"

"Sorry, May," he groaned as he flopped back onto his pillow. "I didn't mean to wake you up."

May smiled understandingly. "You didn't wake me up actually. I was reading when I heard you making a ruckus in here." She ruffled his hair affectionately before rising from her crouched position beside his bed. "Scoot."

Peter obediently shifted to make room for May as she squished herself onto the twin bed beside him.

"Nightmare, huh?" She said, interlacing her fingers over her stomach. Peter copied her stance, crossing his ankles under the blankets.

"Yeah," he admitted softly. "But it's okay. I'm okay. It was just a dream," he finished in a whisper. But it was much more than that. Dreams don't haunt you every time you close your eyes. They don't manifest themselves in the faces of strangers you pass on the street.

Those kinds of dreams don't leave little girls without their fathers.

"Do you want to talk about it?" May turned her head to stare at her nephew.

Peter knew he probably should. It would be a lot healthier than keeping it to himself and letting it torture him day after day after day…

"No, that's okay," he said instead. "I'll probably forget about it by tomorrow." He turned his head and gave May a small smile. She smiled back as she stretched her neck across the pillow to plant a kiss on his forehead.

"Well let me know if you change your mind. Try to get some sleep," she said, clambering out of the bunk.

"Goodnight, May," Peter called as she reached the door.

She threw a smile over at him. "Night, sweetie."

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_Beep. Beep. Beep. Be_–

Peter flung a hand out and hit the snooze on his alarm clock. He risked a glance at digital display: 6:25 AM. He groaned, dragging his hands down his face, pulling at his lower lids as he stared up at the blank underside of the bunk.

He'd tried his very hardest to go back to sleep after May had left last night. But every time he shut his eyes, the dark freezing water of the East River flooded his mind.

Peter had watched the amber glow of the early sun sneak in through his curtains and heard the city becoming more and more alive with each passing hour.

Peter inhaled sharply and flung back the blankets covering his legs. He swung himself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom to start getting ready for school. Peter turned on the shower water to warm it up before turning to grab a fresh towel from under the sink.

As he popped back up, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror.

There were pouchy purple bags protruding under his eyes, and the whites of his eyes were starting to turn red. His hair was tousled and disheveled. All in all, he looked like hell. So he did what all teenagers do when their lives are falling apart.

He flashed himself a peace sign in the mirror and pursed his lips. "Cute."

Peter stepped into the shower and stepped forward into what was supposed to be a heated spray. Instead he was splashed with freezing water that jump started his heart into beating a mile a minute.

He flung himself backwards out of the tub, tripping and stumbling, nearly ripping the curtain bar down with him as he fell flat on his back on the bathroom floor.

There was a sharp knock at the door. "Peter? Are you okay?"

Peter panted heavily as he stared up at the ceiling. "Y-Yeah, I'm fine!" He called back.

"I probably should've warned you," May said through the door. "The water heater's broken. It probably won't get fixed until tomorrow afternoon sometime. I guess it's cold showers until then."

He heard May chuckling to herself as she walked back towards the kitchen.

No, no, no. He couldn't do cold showers. He couldn't do cold water. Not since–

Peter pushed himself off the floor and threw his old clothes back on. Guess he was going to school smelly.

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"You smell."

Peter slammed his locker door and spun around to face his best friend. "Water heater at home is broken," he explained.

"Ah," Ned said, nodding knowingly. "You can come shower at my place after school if you want?"

Peter threw his friend a grateful look as he stuffed his book and folders in to his bag. "Thanks, man."

"Hey, Parker!"

Peter swung his backpack over his shoulder and spun on his heel, the opposite direction of the boy trying to get his attention.

"Parker! I'm talking to you!"

Ned scurried to catch up with Peter's pace as the teen took off at a brisk power walk down the hall. "Um Peter, the classroom's the other way?"

Peter stared determinedly ahead. He didn't have enough energy or patience to deal with Flash Thompson today. Had he had more than six hours of sleep from four days combined, he might have been able to tolerate the teen. But when Peter was tired, Peter got crabby. And when Peter got crabby, he had no impulse control.

A sharp buzzing at the back of his neck alerted Peter to the person rapidly coming up behind him. Peter swung his left shoulder forward just a hand came down with intents to grab it.

Flash's hand swept through empty air as Peter evaded him. The teen frowned, but didn't try again. Instead, he fell in step with the two other high schoolers.

"Morning, Parker. Leeds. What's got you in a mood?" He said, poking a slender finger into Peter's ribs. Peter swatted at the boy's hand but Flash had already retracted it.

"Flash, do you know what it's like to not be a dick?" Peter retaliated.

"Ooh, someone's cranky," Flash snickered, bumping his shoulder against Peter's. "Those are some hefty designer bags you got there. You know, if you're looking for a good concealer, Betty Brant is always applying some during some part of the day. You should hit her up and fix some of that ugly. Oh no wait, that's just you."

He emphasized the last three words with one jab each into Peter's cheek.

Peter grit his teeth and tried to hold it together, but on the last poke, he snapped. He grabbed onto Flash's wrist, faster than the eye could follow, and gave it a savage twist.

Flash yelped at the sudden harsh treatment, twisting and tugging as he tried to break Peter's grip.

Using the hold he had on the teen, Peter yanked him in close until his lips were at Flash's ear. "Leave me the hell alone," he growled lowly. He shoved the olive-skinned teen back, releasing his hold on the boy's wrist.

Peter ignored the shocked glances and whispers of the other students in the hall as he stalked away without once looking back.

"Dude, what the hell was that?" Ned hissed once they were in a new hallway.

Peter didn't answer, eyes staring but not really seeing. Ned spun around so he was walking backwards and placed a hand on Peter's chest. "Peter!"

The teen came to an abrupt halt. He relaxed his jaw and blinked dazedly as though waking from a dream. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. His jaw worked up and down like a fish without water, but still no noise was produced.

"Come on." Ned grabbed Peter's hand and pulled him into the bathroom.

Peter stumbled over to the sink and instantly switched on the water. He waited until steam was rising from the sink before plunging his hands in.

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Ned cried, turning the cold tap to on, cooling the water to a lukewarm temperature. "Peter, what's going on?"

"I don't know," Peter whispered truthfully. "I don't know. What was I thinking?" He said in disbelief. "I could have seriously hurt him. Oh my god, what if I broke his wrist? Do you think I broke his wrist?" He turned haunted eyes on his friend.

Ned turned the water off and handed Peter a handful of paper towels. "It's probably more of a sprain. He'll be fine."

"But he didn't deserve that. He was just being a jerk, but Flash is always a jerk. And he's done worse. And I–" Peter dragged his hands down from the crown on his head all the way down his face, without having dried his hands.

"Peter, don't worry about it," Ned said consolingly as he pried one of Peter's hands away from his face and pressed the wad of paper towels into it. Peter dutifully dried his hands and threw the papers into the bin.

"Not to harp or anything, but are you okay?" A short vertical line appeared between Ned's eyebrows as they pinched together in concern.

Peter sighed and gave a slow nod. He hoisted his bag higher on his shoulder and Ned what he hoped was a convincing smile. "Yeah, I'm okay. I just… I'm okay."

Ned didn't look convinced at all, but he didn't press the matter. "Come on, we're going to be late for class."

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"Watch out!"

Peter instantly dropped into a crouch as a large disk flew over his head, ricocheted around the elevator before disappearing back into the room. Eyes wide from the shock of the greeting, Peter stepped off the elevator.

"Whaaat are you guys doing?" He asked bemusedly at the sight in the living room.

Clint hoisted the trademark red, silver, and blue shield of Captain America. "Steve's not home, so we thought we'd try our hand at the old boomerang."

We being Clint and the metal armed guy from the airport. Peter felt a spark of excitement mixed with fear at finally getting to meet the guy face to face.

"You were in Germany!" The words escaped before he could squash them and produce something with a little more tact and maturity.

The man's stance had gone from relaxed to uptight in an instance.

_'__Well, duh Peter, he doesn't know who you are.'_

"Ah relax, man." Clint slapped the man's back reassuringly. "Pete's cool. Aren't ya, Pete?"

Peter nodded rapidly, walking across the room to where the two men were standing.

"I'm cool. So cool. Though not as cool as you." Here came the word vomit. There was no stopping it. "I've been wanting to take another look at that arm of yours, because it's so cool. Like who made it, how does it work? Well I kinda know how it works, but you could probably tell me a lot more information about it. Does it hurt? Did it hurt when they put it on? Is it wired to–"

"Whoa, easy, Pete," Clint chuckled. "Don't make me take back what I said about you."

Peter shut his mouth with a sharp click as his teeth collided. He stepped forward, offering his hand to the man. "Sorry. I'm Peter. Peter Parker."

The man gave his hand a firm shake, although his face was still wary. "Bucky. So you're the kid Stark's always rambling on about?"

Peter felt a flush creeping up his cheeks. "Well, I don't–"

"Stark'll be home soon, kid," Clint interrupted before Peter could start expelling words at the speed of light again. "Sam's in the kitchen if you want something to eat, or you can hang out here with us. Just promise not to tell Steve what we were doing." He gave Peter's shoulder a friendly pat before retreating to the opposite side of the room.

Peter settled himself down on the loveseat and pulled out one of his homework packets. The sounds of the two men tossing this shield became background nose as his focus intensified.

It wasn't long, though, until the sounds became a sort of white noise, a soothing din that reminded Peter of just how tired he was. He leaned back against the soft suede of the couch and let his eyes drift shut.

_"__Save her! Save her!"_

_30 compressions, 2 breaths._

_Please breathe, please breathe._

_"__Please save my daddy!"_

_Cold. Everything was cold. Pale skin. Blue lips._

_Why won't your heart beat?_

_30 compressions, 2 breaths._

_No, no, no,_

"No!" Peter bolted upright, homework flying off his lap and landing awkwardly only the floor. The teen panted heavily, lungs heaving for air as the figure he hadn't noticed standing in front of him crouched to his level.

Tony mutely picked up the pieces of paper and the dropped pencil, setting them on the coffee table beside the couch. Once that was cleaned up, Tony rose and dropped down onto the loveseat beside Peter.

He threw an arm over the back of the couch and cross his legs. They sat in silence for a moment while Peter calmed his breathing. After a minute or two, Tony finally spoke.

"Want to explain what you're freaking out on my couch for?"

_'__Just say yes, Peter. Talk to someone.'_

"Sorry, just a bad dream." Peter dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. "When did you get here?"

Tony uncrossed his legs and planted his hands on his knees. "Literally 30 seconds ago. Put your homework away, we're having a movie night."

Peter dropped his hands from his face. "We?" He cocked his head. "As in…"

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"Who had Chocolate Therapy?" Natasha asked, arms full of Ben & Jerry's pints.

Pepper's hand went up, the second one quickly following to catch the ice cream that was thrown her way.

Natasha continued to call out flavors until everyone had received theirs.

"What're we watching?" Bruce asked, propping his feet on the ottoman.

"The Proposal," Sam and Clint said in unison. Peter stifled a giggle as the two man clinked their spoons together in camaraderie.

"FRIDAY, lights, please," Tony called. The lights slowly faded to black as the movie began to play. Peter adjusted the pillow under his elbows where he was lying on his stomach on the floor.

He gave an involuntary yelp as a blanket was suddenly thrown over his eyes. "Hey!" He said indignantly as he pulled his head free from the fleece. He looked around for the culprit, Bucky finally giving himself up as he shrugged.

"You looked cold."

Peter rolled his eyes but gratefully wrapped himself in the blanket, resettling himself before anyone could complain that he was moving too much.

The film wasn't even a quarter of the way over when the unmistakable pull of fatigue began to weigh on his eyelids. The combination of the dark room, the soft voices coming from the screen, the warmth of the blanket surrounding him, the complete and utter lack of sleep he'd gotten recently– it all totaled up to one very sleepy teenager.

Peter eyelids bounced as he fought to keep them open, knowing that if he closed his eyes he'd he _his_ face. He'd see the tears streaming down the face of the little girl whose father he'd failed to save.

He couldn't take another second of that torturous image imprinted behind his eyelids. But he wasn't quite strong enough to fight off the allure of the peace that was supposed to come with sleep.

His eyes slid shut and the noise of the movie faded as he succumbed.

_"__Son, let us take over. You've done all you can."_

_"__No, but I have to–"_

_"__We'll take care of him. You did good."_

_Lips still blue. So very, very blue._

_Wrong. What'd I do wrong? _

_Why was it still so cold?_

_Should've been faster. Would have saved him. Could have saved him._

_Why? Why wasn't I fast enough?_

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

"Pete, kid, open your eyes." A hand was shaking his shoulder. There was blood rushing in his ears. Bile burning its way up his throat.

Peter pushed off the ground, stumbling away from the hand on his shoulder.

"Peter, talk to me," Tony held his hands out placatingly, slowly rising from his crouch.

Peter looked around wildly, eyes flitting over all the people sitting on the edge of their seats, ready to pounce into action.

Too many eyes. Too many people. Too much pressure to be okay.

"Air," Peter gasped. "I need air."

Tony didn't hesitate. "FRIDAY, unlock window 708." The was a click and the window to the left of the TV unhinged and swung outward. Peter didn't waste anytime as he raced to the window and jumped up onto the building's exterior wall.

He climbed fast, bricks and glass becoming a blur as he made his way to the roof. Once he reached it, he heaved himself over the side and onto the flat landing, lying flat on his back and gasping up at the clouded sky overhead.

It was cold up here too. Everywhere was so cold.

Peter listened to the battering ram that was his heart as it attempted to break free from its bony prison. He took deep breaths in through his nose as May had taught him to do.

'_In two three four, out two three four,'_

Peter repeated the cycle until he felt he was no longer on the brink of an anxiety attack. It was only once his heartbeat slowed that he realized he was crying. Tears had leaked out of the corners of his eyes and had trailed into his hairline.

He viciously swiped them away just as the door to the roof opened.

"Mind if I join you?" Tony's voice cut through the sound of cars rushing by on the streets below.

Peter sat up and nodded, but couldn't quite find the courage to look up at the man. Tony settled himself on the rooftop beside the teen, leaning his back against the ledge.

"That's twice today you've freaked out in my living room," Tony started.

Peter couldn't help but give an honest chuckle.

"You wanna tell me what's going on in that puzzle ball of a head of yours?"

Peter copied Mr. Stark's stance, leaning back against the ledge. He intertwined his fingers as his forearms rested on his drawn up knees. He couldn't quite find the words to say it, but Tony was patient. He didn't push or rush Peter; he just waited.

"On Sunday," Peter began slowly, "I was out on patrol. It was the middle of the day, and I stopped to have lunch on top of the East River bridge." Peter began systematically cracking his knuckles, pressing and twisting.

"There was this semi-truck who lost control. He hit a patch of ice and ran a car off the bridge. The semi driver was fine, so I went in after the car. I get down there and it's this man… with his daughter in the backseat."

Peter could feel his throat starting to close as the hard lump that always accompanied tears returned. "I was going to pull them both out the same time, but the man–" Peter blinked furiously against the heat burning his eyes. "–he wouldn't let me get him out until his daughter was safe. He just kept yelling "Save her!" "

His hand began to curl into fists as he kept talking.

"So I did. I saved her. I got her back up on the bridge, she was breathing fine. Some lady got out of her car to sit with her while I went back for the father. But by the time I got there," Peter didn't bother to stop the tears as they finally broke free, traces paths down his cheeks, "he was unconscious. I got him back to the surface but he wasn't breathing." A sob escaped as Peter shoved a hand through his hair.

"I tried to save him. I tried so hard. I don't know how long I did CPR until the paramedics got there. But the whole time, all I could hear was the little girl screaming for her dad, begging me to save him, and I tried." Another sob broke loose.

"He was so cold and he was turning blue and he didn't have a heartbeat and I didn't know what to do, I didn't–"

His babbling was cut off as Tony suddenly pulled him into a bear hug, arms encircling Peter with enough strength to hold the teen together as he cried. Cried for the man he couldn't save. For the girl who no longer had a father. For the wife who had become a widow.

For himself because he was tired. So tired. All he wanted to do was sleep.

"I should've tried harder," Peter gasped as Tony began to rock them both back and forth.

"No, no, no," Tony soothed. "You did everything you could. You did everything right."

Peter found his fingers grasping Tony's shirt of their own free will. "It's my fault. I see his face in the faces of people I don't even know. And every time I close my eyes, I see him. I see the little girl, and I know I don't deserve to sleep when she's dealing with so much, but I'm just tired. I'm so tired," he hiccuped as his tears began to abate.

"I know, buddy, I know," Tony murmured. "Why don't you try to get some sleep now, okay? I'll stay here with you the whole time."

"The whole time?" Peter repeated.

One of Tony's hands reached up to comb through the teen's brown curls. "The whole time, kid. Just sleep."

It was all the encouragement Peter needed. He drifted off in seconds, still pulled against Tony's chest, fingers still curled in the man's shirt.

Tony sent a text to Pepper, requesting blankets so the pair wouldn't freeze to death on the roof.

He was content to stay there as long as it took, as long as it meant peace for Peter.

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Thanks for reading! Drop me a review if you've got the time and/or there's ever anything you want to see! Up next: Fever


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Here's part two! Enjoy

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)

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**Trope: Fever**

I Tried to Keep a Secret

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Peter was not sick.

He'd told May so when he'd stumbled into the kitchen that morning with unbrushed hair and glassy eyes. She'd looked up from the book she was reading at the table, a mug of coffee clutched in her hands. An almost instantaneous look of worry had stolen over her face as she stood up from the table, setting her mug down beside the novel.

She'd placed a hand on his forehead, frowning at the abnormal temperature emanating from his skin. She insisted that he had a fever and needed to get right back in bed; no way was he going to school.

But Peter had brushed off her concern, as he was known to do, and claimed that he wasn't running a fever. He had shrugged off her concern and said that her hand was probably still warm from her coffee, not because he had a fever.

They argued about it, but eventually it was Peter who came out on top. May had agreed to let him go to school if he promised to call her if he started feeling bad.

But why would he feel bad? He wasn't sick.

"Here, man, I got you a sandwich and a fruit cup." Ned slid the tray onto the table in front of Peter before clambering over the bench to take a seat himself.

Peter lifted his head off his arms and blearily blinked at the unappetizing looking food. "Thang you very buch," he said, absentmindedly picking up his fork, but not actually making a move to eat from the cup of peaches.

He hadn't been hungry that morning when he'd left for school, though he chalked it up to the nerves he was feeling over all the midterms he had to take that day. He blamed the ache that seemed to have settled deep in his bones on patrol from the night before. No work out compared to a night of beating up the city's resident baddies.

Peter yanked the collar of his sweatshirt up over his mouth and nose as an almighty sneeze tore loose. He sneezed once, twice, thrice, four times total– each one stronger than the last, forcing his stomach to contract and very nearly bringing his head smacking down on the table.

He lifted his head out of his shirt, eyes half-lidded, and inhaled heavily through his mouth.

His hinged his head back on his neck with a groan, eyes slipping shut. With great effort, he peeled his eyes back open and stared blankly at the plate of food in front of him.

"You good?"

Peter slowly turned his head to look at his friend sitting next to him, a concerned look painted over Ned's round face. Peter did his best to offer a smile, but what actually appeared was more akin to Chandler Bing getting his photo taken.

He opened his mouth to reply, but what came out instead was a harsh, dry cough that scraped against his already sore throat. Ned patted him on the back consolingly as he hacked, offering Peter a bottle of water once the teen had finished.

Peter took a small sip of the liquid, appreciating its coolness as it slid down his throat.

" 'M fine," he said with a little nod of his head, grimacing when the slight movement aggravated the ache behind his eyes. Peter ascribed the headache to dehydration. He never had been really good about drinking plenty of water. That's all this was.

He wasn't sick.

Peter set the bottle down and speared a piece of cubed peach onto the end of his fork, putting the the square into his mouth and chewing slowly. He'd been expecting the sweet taste of the fruit to hit his tongue, but instead it only equated to a cold, squishy morsel that was in no way appetizing.

The teen swallowed thickly, a shiver racing up his spine that he wasn't totally convinced had anything to do with the disgusting food.

He'd been cold on and off throughout the morning. He's spent all of his physics lesson shivering in his seat, sweater sleeves drawn over his hands. Next period found him with his sleeves pushed up past his elbows, sweating way too much in the air conditioned classroom.

The cycle repeated over and over, increasing its repetition frequency till Peter was thoroughly confused about what his body wanted.

Peter jumped as a book-bag was suddenly, and loudly, dropped onto the table in front of him.

Wide eyes blinked up at Michelle Jones as she quirked an eyebrow at the two friends sitting across from her as she slid stepped over the bench to sit down. "What's up, dorks?"

"Hey, MJ," Ned piped as Peter mumbled the same phrase a split second behind.

MJ's eyebrows pinched together as she lifted her chin, peering down her nose with squinted eyes as the pale teen in front of her. "You look like hell. Are you sick?" She said bluntly.

Peter bit back a sigh as he placed his fork back on his tray. "Doh," he said unconvincingly. "I'm dot sig."

MJ crossed her arms on the table, leaning forward as she continued to stare at her friend. "Bullshit."

"Whad?" Peter said, sniffing slightly.

MJ leaned forward. "I said, bullshit."

Peter scowled and pulled his sleeves over his hands, rubbing the knuckles of his fists together. "S'not bullshid," he muttered. "I'm dot sig. It's dust allergies."

The girl rolled her eyes and sat back, reaching into her backpack to produce her lunch. "Dust allergies, huh?" She opened her lunch box and took out the tupperware of salad inside.

Peter shook his head, wincing as the pain flared again. "Doh, I said dust–dust–_just_ allergies," he forced out with difficulty. MJ snorted as she pried the lid off her container, dumping salad dressing over the greens.

"I'm with MJ on this one," Ned spoke up, setting his own food back down on his plate. "You really don't look good, Peter."

Peter could practically feel the consternation rolling off of Ned in waves. Peter sighed and swept a sweater-covered hand over his face. "I bromise I'm fine, guys. It's dust allergies," he repeated, but neither Ned nor MJ looked satisfied with his response.

They shared a knowing look across the table, eyebrows raised and lips slightly pursed.

"Stop it, gu–" Peter's protest was cut short as he broke into another bout of sharp coughs that aggravated the ache in his throat. Ned proffered the bottle of water once more as the cough subsided. "Thanks," Peter said, slightly out of breath as he accepted the bottle.

Once he'd set the bottle back on the table, he reached a hand out to MJ. "Can I hab your dapkin?"

MJ quirked an eyebrow at the request, fork poised over her container of salad. "Why?"

"By dose is runnig."

"Because of the dust allergies, right?"

"…I'm dot sig."

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By the time fifth period rolled around, Peter was no longer believing his own lie.

He was sick.

He was so sick. He felt like complete and utter crap, shivers and chills ravaging his body, dry cough tearing at his inflamed throat. He felt an unmitigated sense of exhaustion weighing him down, causing him to drag his feet when he walked and making it extremely difficult to pay attention to what his teachers were lecturing on.

Peter was pretty sure he had failed the two midterms he had taken that afternoon, glazed eyes reading the questions, but the information not quite processing in his brain.

His head was past the point of aching and was now in full-blown strobe mode. It pounded in unison with the abnormally fast beat of his heart. His voice sounded like he'd been standing on his head for too long, sinuses packed with mucus that seemed to be in a rush to escape through his nostrils and down the back of his throat.

During gym period, Peter swore he was going to pass out or throw up– whichever came first. Coach Wilson had them running laps around the gymnasium which normally wouldn't have bothered Peter in the slightest. But today he had absolutely no energy with which to lug his body around the track at a decent speed.

Ned jogged beside him, eyes burning a hole into the right side of Peter's face.

"Dude, you _really_ don't look good," he said, eyebrows furrowing as his friend continued to puff and pant from the exertion.

"It's okay, I'm okay," Peter gasped out, trying to keep his mind focused on putting one foot in front of the other.

"Peter, I'm serious. You should go to the nurse."

Peter shook his head, sweat beads rolling down his forehead. "School's albost over, Ded. I mean Ded. I mean _Ned_." Peter swallowed heavily, the thickening of saliva in his mouth forewarning him that the cyclone in his stomach was about to become something much worse.

"I thought you couldn't even get sick?" Ned wondered aloud, eyes squinting disconcertedly. "You know, because of… you know."

Keeping his lips sealed, Peter breathed raggedly through his one clear nostril, afraid that if he opened his mouth he'd have a fit of emesis. No one needed to hear, see, or clean up that.

"What if someone infected you?" Ned gasped. "Like, not the normal "I sneezed on, you get my germs" kind of infecting. I mean like someone literally bioengineered a virus that works on you?"

"Ded," Peter whispered. The nausea's threat of expelling the paltry contents of his stomach was becoming stronger.

"Cause if they did," Ned continued, not hearing Peter's mumbled attempt at getting his friend's attention, "that would A. be totally badass, and B. totally uncool because who the hell gets their jollies off of giving Spider-Man a cold?"

"Ded–"

Ned inhaled sharply. "Ooh! Or maybe this is all part of some big scheme to stop you from interfering with whatever the bad guys are planning! Maybe they want–"

Whatever it was that Ned thought the bad guys wanted would have to wait as Peter lost the battle against his stomach. He dropped to all fours in the middle of the track, heaving copious amounts of bile and the few peach cubes he'd crammed down for lunch.

The runners coming up behind him and Ned scattered off to the side, shouts and screams of "Ew!" "What the hell!" and "Coach Wilson!" reverberated around the gym. The noise was lost on Peter's ears as he screwed his eyes shut tight and renewed his attempt to control his irregular breathing, only to be interrupted by a fresh surge of unproductive heaves.

He distantly registered a hand rubbing small circles just between his shoulder blades. Once his heaves had lessened, a rough cloth was pressed against his mouth.

Peter blearily opened his eyes as the cloth swept across his lips and down his chin. He pushed back until he was sat on his heels. He slowly turned his head to look at the figure kneeling on his left.

MJ smirked wryly. "Let me guess: dust allergies?"

Peter huffed a semblance of a laugh and hung his head. "Actually, I thing I bight be sig."

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_Bzz, bzz._

Blindly, Peter reached into his jacket pocket and fished out his phone. He cracked open one eye to squint at the bright screen displaying a text message from _If You're HAPPY and You Know It :D. _

Peter inhaled sharply and sat up straight, lifting his head off the wall of the subway train where it had been resting uncomfortably for five minutes.

_If You're HAPPY and You Know It :D: _En route. Stuck in traffic. Going to be late.

En route? Peter frowned as he continued to stare at the screen. Why would Happy be–

"Shit," Peter mumbled, swiping open his phone and quickly typing out a message.

_Peter Parker: _Happy, I'm so sorry! I completely forgot you were picking me up. I'm on the subway home. Pick me up from the apartment?

How the heck had he forgotten that today was his internship?

Peter ran a hand through his hair, one leg beginning to bounce nervously. He couldn't go to Mr. Stark's while he was like this. Mr. Stark would freak out and go all Florence Nightingale on him.

_If You're HAPPY and You Know It :D: _Sure. ETA: 45 minutes.

_Peter Parker: _Thank you, Happy!

Peter blew out his breath through pursed lips, leg bouncing up and down at a neurotic pace. "I can fix this, I can do this. It's going to be fine," he whispered to himself.

Peter hopped off the subway one stop early and hurried into the convenience store on the street corner. He offered a quick half smile to the sleepy attendant behind the counter as he beelined for the small section of medications.

He stared blankly at the three shelves boasting multiple different types of brightly colored boxes of medications. He blinked lethargically as he mentally wracked his brain for the type of medicine May usually bought.

_'__Did it have a pink box? No, I think it was blue and green. Or maybe it was blue, green, and pink?'_

Peter shook his head and decided to grab a few of each. He didn't have time to waste. Happy would be at his apartment soon and Peter needed to beat the man there.

He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet as the cashier languidly scanned each of the boxes.

"Do you want these in a bag?" The man said slowly, lower lip hanging heavily against his chin.

Peter handed his money across the counter and picked up his items. "That's okay. Keep the change!" He stuffed the boxes into his backpack as he stepped back out into the late afternoon sun.

Knowing his window of beating Happy home was a small one, Peter dredged up the energy to move his torpid feet at a brisk walk.

Along the five minute walk home, Peter dug out the packages of medicine. He took two of the pink pills, four of the unnaturally large orange gel ones, and hearty swig of something purple and gritty. That last one almost came back up as quickly as it went down.

Peter shuddered at the lingering taste. His phone buzzed just as he turned the corner onto his block. He pulled out the device and saw a new message from Happy.

_If You're HAPPY and You Know It :D: _Here.

The teen looked up and saw that, sure enough, there was Happy's black Audi parked in front of his and May's apartment building. Peter didn't bother replying to the text as he drew closer to the vehicle.

He took a deep breath to steel himself and did his best to paste on a happy face. He waved at Happy through the windshield before popping open the door to the backseat.

"Hey, Happy!" Peter forced out in his peppiest tone, though internally he was anything but peppy. "Sorry about the mix up. I was so focused on finals that I completely forgot what today was."

Happy studied the teen in the backseat through the rearview mirror, eyebrows pinching together slightly.

Peter pulled his seatbelt across his chest, clicking it in to place before resting back agains the headrest. He watched people pass by car window for a few moments before he registered how unusually quiet it was in the vehicle.

He turned his head to look up at the driver and found Happy craning around the seat staring at the teen. Peter gave the man what he hoped was a smile. It felt more like a grimace, but at least he tried.

When Happy's only response was to squint his eyes suspiciously, Peter finally asked. "Is everything okay?"

"I should be asking you that," Happy retorted, not unkindly. "What's going on with you? You sick or something?"

Damn, he was good.

Peter chuckled weakly. "Sick? No, Happy, come on. It's just seasonal allergies." Back to that lie again.

Happy didn't look convinced. "You sure?"

Peter pressed his lips together and nodded. "I'm fine."

"Then why do you sound so congested and look all white?"

"Oh my god, Karen, you can't just ask people why they're white." Peter's eyes slid shut in embarrassment as soon as the words left his mouth. "I'm sorry, I couldn't pass that up."

According to Happy, if Peter was joking and quoting films, he couldn't be feeling too poorly. "All right," Happy said, twisting back around in his seat and putting the car in drive. "But if you change your mind before we get to Tony's, let me know."

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"Ha! See? What'd I tell ya?" Tony stood back from the whiteboard, proudly displaying the perfect circle he'd drawn.

Peter mustered up a semblance of a smile as he mindlessly scratched as his chest. His hand wandered over his shoulder and down his arm, itching at his skin though his sweater the whole way down.

The sweats and chills had returned from earlier and his stomach was slowly replenishing it's supply of bile for the next bought of vomiting. Peter felt as if someone had crammed tennis balls into each of his sinuses if the pressure was anything to go off of.

There was an incessant ringing in his right ear and his eyes felt like they were covered with wool.

Either the medicine he took hadn't worked, or he'd already burned through it and needed to take more. Probably a bigger dose this time.

"Wow," Peter said lamely as his mentor continued to stare at the teen perched on the stool. Peter decided to keep the talking to a minimum, knowing his choked and stuffy sounding words would be a dead give away for the illness plaguing his body.

"Careful there, you might fall off your stool if you don't contain that excitement," Tony snorted, snagging his mug of coffee off the desk before plopping down on the stool next to Peter.

"Das really abazing," Peter tried again, resisting the urge to sniffle.

Tony quirked an eyebrow over the rim of his mug. " "Abazing"?" He said, head cocking to the side slightly.

Peter smiled. Only it wasn't his normal smile, the one where his eyes squinted and his cheeks became downright pinch-able. It was the smile where his lower lip pulled down and only the bottom row of his teeth were visible and his eyes got all shifty and weird.

Mr. Stark set down his mug. "What's going on?" He squinted his eyes and tried to peer into the teen's flitting gaze. "You feeling okay?"

Peter nodded quickly, internally groaning as the motion didn't agree with the pressure packed behind his forehead. "I'm fine," Peter over-enunciated, one hand unknowingly scratching across his stomach.

Tony held his gaze for a moment longer before choosing to let it go. "Whatever you say. Hey," he stood up suddenly, "you hungry? It's getting pretty close to dinnertime."

Before Peter could respond, Mr. Stark was halfway across the room and heading for the stairs. This time, Peter did groan out loud.

"What was that?" Tony threw over his shoulder, as he set foot on the staircase.

"Combig," Peter called softly as he pushed himself off the stool. Food was the last thing he wanted at the moment, but something told him he didn't really have a choice. He began to drag his feet over to the staircase, one finger scratching right below his ear.

_'__Why am I so itchy?' _Acknowledging the itch only seemed to make the sensation that much stronger. Suddenly his whole body was pinging with itchy hotspots; legs, arms, neck, face, feet, back– everywhere.

Peter curled his hands into fists and grit his teeth against the urge. Once he'd finally made it to the top of the staircase, he was sweating profusely, but he desperately wanted a blanket to curl up under. _'Does Mr. Stark always keep it so cold in here?'_

He shuffled towards the kitchen where Tony was filling up a pot with water.

"How does spaghetti sound?" Tony asked, not looking up from his task. Peter folded his arms on the countertop and buried his head in the crook of his elbow.

"If you don't want spaghetti, I can always make sandwiches or another type of pasta. Or– ooh! I make a mean bowl of cereal." Tony chuckled to himself as he set the pot on the burner and set the heat. It was only then that he turned around and saw the teen hunched over the counter.

Uneasiness instantly settled in Tony's stomach. "Pete? You okay?" He stepped briskly around to island to place a hand on Peter's back.

He inhaled sharply at the heat he felt radiating through the teen's sweater. "Peter…" The rest of his sentence trailed off as his eyes caught sight of Peter's neck. There were three or four raised red bumps spotting the back of his neck.

"What the hell?" Tony whispered. "Hey, Pete. Buddy, can you look at me for a second?" He gently shook Peter's shoulder to arouse a response.

Taking way more energy than it should have, Peter dragged his head up from his arms and peered at his mentor through half-lidded eyes.

Tony's lips pulled back from his teeth with a wince as he took note of the bumps splashed over Peter's cheeks, forehead, and neck. They were very clearly hives, but where Peter got them from, Tony had no idea.

"Peter, did you eat something funny today? Anything you don't normally eat or maybe touched something funky in chemistry class?"

The lethargic teen gave a minute shake of his head. Tony frowned, pressing the inside of his wrist against the boy's forehead. He let out a low whistle. "Jesus Christ, Pete. That's quite the temp you're sporting there. FRIDAY?"

A small metal disk shot out from the underside of his watch and suctioned to Peter's forehead. After a second, FRIDAY's lilting Irish tone rang out. "Temperature: 106.5. Immediate medical treatment is advised."

"Shit." Tony slung Peter's arm over his should and all but dragged the kid over to the elevator.

"Mmph… where we going?" Peter mumbled. Tony shushed him gently as the doors to the elevator slid open.

"You're going to be fine. It's going to be okay. Just try not to fall asleep on me. FRIDAY, call May. Tell her to meet us at the hospital. And turn off the stove, will you?"

Peter let his head flop onto Tony's shoulder. "Why're we going to the hospital? I'm fine. Are you fine?"

Tony couldn't help the breathless chuckle that escaped. Of Peter was worrying about him right now.

"It's going to be okay, Pete," he repeated. "You're going to be fine."

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"106 degrees?" May whisper shrieked. "Oh god, I knew letting him go to school was a bad idea."

Peter could hear his aunt's voice, but he couldn't see her. Everything was dark.

"Don't beat yourself up. You know how stubborn he can be once he's made up his mind." That was Mr. Stark's voice. "I had Happy bring his backpack over so once Peter's released he can take it home with him."

"Thank you. Not just for that, but for bringing him here and not letting him talk you out of it."

"To be honest, he didn't have much say in the matter. He was pretty out of it on the way over."

"What did the doctor say?"

There was the sound of metal scraping the floor before Tony responded. Peter guessed the sound to be someone sitting in a chair.

"Well you know about the fever, but in addition she said the only other main concern is that he's dehydrated. She's got him on a drip right now, but since Peter wasn't really lucid enough to tell us how he was feeling, we don't have much to go off of. She thinks it's just a bad bout of the flu.

"There's hives covering basically his entire body, but she's not sure what from. His bloodwork came back normal. But something tells me what I found in his backpack might be the culprit."

"Why? What'd you find?"

There was the distinct sound of a zipper being undone, a little rustling, and then a gasp. "What's all that?" May asked.

"Cold medicine, flu medicine, cough medicine. Doc thinks he took it all at once. The meds didn't mix well, hence the nasty hives."

"Oh Peter…"

There was the muted sound of footsteps approaching Peter's bed before a hand was placed on his head, fingers gently combing through this hair. Peter slowly cracked open his eyes, looking around the dark room.

"Peter, honey? Are you awake?" May leaned over the rail to better see her nephew's face. Peter reached a hand up to scratch at his cheek as his eyes slid shut of their own accord. Gently fingers wrapped around his own, preventing them from completing their mission.

"Don't do that, sweetheart. That'll only make it worse," May said softly. "Can you open your eyes for me?"

With a monumental effort, Peter peeled back his eyelids to gaze up at the slightly blurry image of his aunt.

"Hi," she whispered.

"Hi," he whispered back.

"Hello," came Tony's voice.

"Hey," Peter returned, turning his head to see the man standing on the other side of the bed.

"Gave me and aunt a scare there, hot stuff," Tony said, eyebrows raised and hands shoved into his pockets.

Peter licked his lips and blinked slowly. "Sorry."

"It's okay, sweetheart. We're just glad you're okay." May leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Peter's forehead.

"In the future, not that you're going to be making this a habit, try to refrain from making drug cocktails. Okay?"

Peter couldn't help the sheepish smile that slid onto his face. "I'll try my best."

"Nuh-uh," Tony tutted. "Do or do not. There is no try."

A surprised giggle burst from Peter's throat. "You've been spending too much time with me."

"You said it, kid. Not me."

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Thanks for reading! Fav, follow, or review if you've got the time! Up next: Thermoregulation


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **It's Spring Break! So here ya go!

**DISCLAIMER:** I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)

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**Trope: Thermoregulation**

I Can't Get Warm

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"You got a hat?" May yelled from the kitchen.

Peter snatched his beanie off the floor for where he had discarded it last night. "Yes!" He yelled back, pulling the hat onto his head and over his ears. He switched off the light in his room and started to make his way down the hall when May posed another question.

"Do you have your gloves?"

The teen shoved his hands into his coat pockets where he was sure he left them. He came up empty. He spun on his heel and ducked back into his room, switching the light back on. A quick scan of the disaster area (Peter hadn't had time to clean recently) found them sticking out from under his pillow.

How or why they were there, Peter didn't know. He quickly stuffed them into his pockets and turn the room's light back off.

He'd made it two steps into the hallway when May asked if he had a scarf.

Peter let his head hinge back on his neck, eyes slipping shut. At this rate he was never going to leave the house.

"I don't need one, May," he responded, finally stepping into the kitchen where his aunt was perched on the counter eating a bowl of salad. "It's not even that cold outside."

May raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I thought the weather guy said it was like twenty degrees or something?" She said, one cheek full of half-chewed lettuce.

"Ill be fine," Peter reassured as he zipped up his coat. He had just gotten the door open when May called, "You have your phone?"

"Yep! Bye! Love you, May!" He quickly pulled the door shut behind him before May could ask anything else. She could've kept going all day if he'd let her. But then he'd be late to meeting Mr. Stark and Ms. Potts.

Peter pulled open the door to the street and just about ate his words. It _was_ that cold outside. Twenty degrees sounded about right if the icy blades of air stinging his cheeks were anything to go off of.

Queens had been visited by Jack Frost himself over night. Snow was piled four inches high on top of every structure in sight: mailboxes, newsstands, hotdog carts, and shop awnings. The melted snow from a few days earlier had turned to ice, making the simple task of walking a hazard to any who dared set foot outdoors.

Salt crystals crunched beneath Peter's sturdy winter boots as he made his way down the sidewalk. He hadn't even made it to the first street corner when a shout arose behind him.

"Peter! Peter Parker!"

He spun around at the familiar voice and saw his aunt practically running down the sidewalk. Her appearance was incongruous to say the least. One foot sported a flip flop while the other was swimming in one of Peter's tennis shoes.

Today being a weekend, she hadn't bothered to properly dress herself and hence was sporting a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that came down to her knees. But even after all her nagging out Peter gearing up for the cold, she had neglected to grab a coat in her mad dash out the door.

"May, what're you–"

He met her halfway and she skidded to a stop. "You forgot your skates," she panted, hoisting a pair of well-worn brown ice-skates. Peter's eyes screwed shut and his palm met his forehead with a sharp _slap_.

"Ugh. Thanks, May," he said, a sheepish smile spreading on his face. She smiled back and passed him the shoes.

"Have fun, kiddo."

"I will!" Peter said, starting to back away. "Get back inside; it's freezing!"

May rolled her eyes, but heading back the way she came. "Say hi to everyone for me!"

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"Are you sure this is safe?" Tony said, eyeing the the frozen pond dubiously. Peter looked up from where he was busy lacing up his skates.

His breath plumed in little white puffs as he stared around at the pond's mostly deserted surface. There were a few couples lazily making loops on the ice, arms linked and hands stuffed deep into their pockets. The colder weather seemed to have deterred the pond's usual population.

"Of course it's safe!" Peter insisted. "May and I come here every winter and I've never seen anyone break the ice. Besides, it's been frozen solid for weeks."

Beside him, Pepper cupped her hands around her nose and mouth and expelled a breath of warm air into her palms. "I think it looks like fun," she smiled at Peter as she briskly rubbed her hands together.

She pushed off the bench and tapped the toe of her own pristine skates against the ground. "You ready, Tony?"

Tony opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but he instead clicked his teeth together and gave a 'what-the-hell' shrug and rose to his feet.

Peter grinned and instantly began hobbling awkwardly on the blades of his skates to the frozen pond. He gingerly put one foot on the ice quickly followed by the second. It only took him a second to gain his balance and then he was off.

He pushed off powerfully against the ice, skates flying as the wind whipped at his nose and made his eyes water. Peter couldn't help the whoop of joy that left his mouth as he gained speed.

He flew by the couples still leisurely making their rounds, weaving out and around them with ease. It wasn't long before he made it back to the start point where Pepper and Tony were just now boarding the ice.

Peter turned his skates sideways and came to an abrupt halt. "See?" He panted lightly. "I told you it was safe."

Tony just rolled his eyes and muttered something that sounded like, "Youths."

Pepper just chuckled and gently pushed off from the ice, gliding gracefully away from the pair. Tony followed, not as elegantly but with enough coordination to get by.

Peter wasn't sure how long they stayed out on the ice, laughing and making fools out of themselves. It wasn't until they started to try tricks on the ice that things began to go south.

It was nearing one o'clock and all the other couples had long since disappeared to entertain other interests. The three of them had the pond to themselves.

Now everyone who's anyone knows that any action that follows the words "Watch this!" is not going to end well. Unfortunately, it was Peter who uttered those cursed words that afternoon.

"Watch this!" Peter shouted , skating backwards towards the center of the ice.

"Be careful, Peter!" Pepper called as she and her fiancé stood motionless on the ice, watching the teen perform his trick.

Peter swung his right leg out and bent his left. He spun slowly in a circle then sharply dragged his right leg back in, straightened his opposite leg, and he was suddenly spinning faster than a top.

He squeezed his arms to his chest, eyes clamped shut as his rotations increased. Just as he was getting ready to throw his leg back out to slow down, he heard an almighty crack followed by a multitude of smaller, sharp cracks.

There was a scream of "Peter, move!" before he was suddenly submerged beneath the icy surface of the pond.

Peter's eyes flew open as he gasped involuntarily. Freezing, dirty pond water flooded into his mouth and seeped into his lungs. He tried to cough but his lungs didn't seem to want to cooperate.

He trashed his arms and legs, fighting to reach the surface, but the weight of all his already heavy winter things and combined with the solidity of the skates was difficult to counteract. Fear-filled brown eyes turned toward the muted winter sun straining through the thick layer of ice above him.

Peter felt himself sinking lower and lower into the pond's depth. His heart was pounding in his chest as terror-filled memories of a parachute and glacial water and not being able to breathe or escape.

This couldn't be happening again.

Please don't let this be happening again.

Peter tried to coordinate his arms and legs in a way that would help him reach fresh air. But, keeping his eyes turned upward, he couldn't even find the hole he had dropped through. He fought hard to pull himself towards the surface.

He vaguely remembered his swim instructor teaching him something about wet shoes and drowning. But that had been back in the fourth grade. Peter couldn't quite recall the memory at the moment.

It wasn't long before the burning in his lungs had begun to dull; the urgency was fading. Energy spent and lungs depleted. The light streaming in above him was no longer taunting, but soothing.

If he was going to die down here, at least he had something nice to look at. Peter saw the last of his air slip through his nose in the form of bubbles rising towards the surface, doing what he could not.

_Did drowning have to be so cold?_ Peter thought as his eyes began to slip shut, lungs instinctively drawing in the cloudy liquid around him.

Distantly he felt his skates collide with the bottom of the pond, the blades cutting easily through the silty bottom and sticking there, leaving Peter floating like a bizarre buoy.

Peter didn't know how long he stayed at the bottom of the pond, how long the gelid waters surrounded him. He was only faintly aware when something began to lug him up to the surface. Peter couldn't find it in himself to care as the water gave way to brisk air that he had been so desperately craving moments before.

There was the distant sensation of being dragged for a minute before he was released back flopping down against a hard surface.

Peter was dimly aware that that should probably have hurt, but he didn't care. He just wanted to sleep and let the encroaching darkness overwhelm him.

Something was patting his cheek. No– it was harder than a pat. Slapping. Someone was slapping his cheek.

That was rude. Didn't your mama ever teach you it's not okay to hit?

He could hear voices shouting next to him, but they sounded muted and distorted. He couldn't make out the words.

Now something was grinding against his sternum, making small painful circles against the bone.

Peter tried to gasp against the pain, but ended up coughing instead. He had the disorientating feeling of being rolled as his lungs contracted painfully, a geyser of green water escaping his mouth and breaking down the powdery snow on the ground.

"That's it, Pete," a voice was saying somewhere behind him. "Get it all out."

He coughed until his abdominal muscles hurt then promptly vomited the entirety of his breakfast onto the ground. Peter couldn't tell if those were tears running down his cheeks or excess water dripping from his hair.

Hands were slipping under his side and back and helping him sit up once the heaves had stopped altogether. Arms wrapped around his chest, pulling his close against something that was equally as wet as he was.

"Christ, Peter," Tony breathed behind him. "Don't ever do that to me again."

Pepper appeared in Peter's line of vision, eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Tony, we need to get inside and get him warm. He's shaking like a leaf."

Between Pepper and Tony, they were able to make sure that Peter made it to the car without any other incident. Tony hopped behind the wheel and sped into traffic, eyes periodically glancing in the rearview at Peter's quivering form bundled against Pepper's side in the backseat.

They made it to the Tower in record time, Tony throwing the car in park with a jolt and switching the engine off. He hopped out of the car and opened the door to the backseat swiftly, gently extricating Peter from the car.

"Mr. S-St-Stark," Peter chattered. "I'm f-fine, r-really."

Tony all but rolled his eyes as he ushered Peter into the elevator. "Yeah, real convincing, kid." He waited for Pepper to step on before asking FRIDAY to take them to their private level.

As soon as the elevators opened, Peter was swiftly ushered into the spare room Tony kept for Peter while Pepper beelined for the kitchen.

Once they were in the room, Tony finally took his hands off the teen's shoulders, heading into the walk-in closest and emerging a few moments later with a pair of black sweats and socks. "You need to get out of those wet things," Tony chided, as if Peter had made a conscious decision to wear sopping wet clothes full of pond algae and fish pee.

Peter accepted the clothes out of his mentor's hand and headed to the bathroom to change. He toed the door closed with a trembling foot. Now that he was out of the gaze of Mr. Stark, Peter collapsed onto the seat of the toilet.

His chest burned terribly from all the water he'd inhaled and his breastbone was still smarting. But the worst thing of all was that he was so _damn_ cold. Peter couldn't remember ever being this cold before. He'd never been a fan of the cold. Peter enjoyed all the things that came with the cold: hot chocolate, snow for snowball fights or building snowmen, ice skating (though he might be changing his opinion on that one). But the cold itself? Peter could do well without.

Peter stood to shed his coat, the sodden material dropping onto the floor with a heavy _whump_. He discarded the sweater he was wearing and tossed it onto the floor next to his coat. The more layers he shed, the more violently he shivered. The cool air attacking his chilled skin.

He wasted no time pulling on the dry sweats as soon as all the soaked clothes had been removed. By the time he was slipping the socks onto his feet, the shivers were so bad it nearly looked as if he were convulsing.

He wrapped his arms around himself, extending a hand to pull open the door and then quickly hiding it back in his armpit. Peter had barely stepped through the doorway when something heavy dropped around his shoulders.

Upon a quick inspection, Peter determined it to be a quilt, though he couldn't ever recall seeing it anywhere in the Tower before. He didn't have much time to ponder it however as something else was dropped over his head.

"Hey!–" Was all he got out before the material was vigorously, yet carefully, rubbed back and forth across his head. The towel was suddenly pulled away, leaving Peter blinking owlishly.

"Alright, kiddo," Tony chuckled, slinging an arm across Peter's shoulders again. "Let's get you warmed up."

As they walked, Peter noticed that Tony had changed into a different set of clothes too. It occurred to Peter that Mr. Stark had been the one that pulled him out of the pond.

In no time, the two were seated on the couch in the living area. Pepper shuffled in, still wearing all of her winter gear, balancing three mugs in her hands. She passed the first to Tony and the second to Peter. The third she kept for herself.

Peter looked down into the mug, the liquid sloshing against the sides of the mug as Peter continued to shake. The sweet smell of rich hot chocolate swirled up from the mug. Peter raised the mug and attempted to take a sip. But it seemed his hands were not to be trusted as he only managed to splash some down the front of his sweatshirt.

"S-sorry," he said apologetically to Mr. Stark, seeing as the sweatshirt didn't actually belong to him.

Tony just waved him off and sipped from his own mug. "Are you starting to feel any better? Warmer?"

"Y-yeah," Peter said, inwardly facepalming. Why was his first gut reaction to lie about his health?

Tony looked skeptical, eyebrows pinching together. "No, you're not," he said, taking a long pull from his mug.

"You're not," Pepper echoed, setting her mug down and taking a seat next to Peter on the couch. She gently removed the mug from Peter's hands and set it next to hers. Tony had gotten up and had grabbed a few more blankets from the chest in the corner.

"Budge up, bud," Tony said, jerking his head sideways. Peter scooted over obediently as he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Mr. Stark handed the stack of blankets to his fiancée before he plopped onto the couch beside Peter.

Tony tugged the around Peter's shoulders off before the teen had a chance to protest. Then the man lifted his right arm and held it off to the side. Neither of them moved for a moment. It was only when Mr. Stark made a beckoning sign with this fingers that Peter realized what the man wanted.

Peter scooted towards his mentor, arms wrapped around himself again in the absence of the little heat he'd had beneath the blanket. He settled against Tony's side, finding it surprisingly easy and comfortable. How had the man managed to warm up so quickly while Peter was still a shivering block of ice?

He couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips as Tony swung the blanket around the two of them. Pepper was quick to pile on the others, creating a sort of nest. She kept two for herself and was soon snuggled into Tony's other side, feet tucked up under the covers.

"FRIDAY, could you get an episode of Friends going?" Tony asked. The response was instantaneous. A hand settled into his still damp hair, fingers combing lightly through the curls as the theme song washed over the room.

Peter could feel the rumble in Mr. Stark's chest as the man mindlessly hummed along wit the theme. That, combined with the hair combing and the heat finally starting to return to Peter's body, was downright soporific.

He inhaled deeply, the smell of coffee and laundry soap filling his nostrils. Peter turned his eyes upwards lazily and saw that Mr. Stark had reclaimed his mug and as sipping at it contentedly as his eyes followed the antics on the screen.

Peter turned his gaze to the tv and, with drowsy eyes, watched the the friends pile onto the couch of Central Perk and poke fun at each other.

And, volitionally or not, Peter found himself being lulled to sleep, shivers finally abated.

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Thanks for reading! Drop a comment if you've got the time!


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